


we will collapse under our own love

by Blepbean



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, I’m adding fluff to balance the angst dw, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Once again this fic isn’t edited or proofread, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Set during 100 year war, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Trauma, Vague Ending, bc we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blepbean/pseuds/Blepbean
Summary: Set in the 100 year war. Wu is distantly related to the king, Wu resides in the safety in the inner walls. Mako is a fire nation soldier in a scouting mission in Ba Sing Se. His amber eyes with the intent to find his brother meets emerald eyes when he collapses in the field of grass. But just like fire and forest there’ll come a time where they’ll light themselves on fire, and he’ll watch Mako leave for the war.Now that boy will just become another faceless stranger, a memory, a moment that will be something significant in years, and when he’s older he can’t quite put his finger on why it’s important. It will eat him alive, it will sink it’s teeth and corrode him to the very core of the things he should’ve done when he becomes just another memory.He shouldn’t be thinking of these things. That boy is just a stranger. He’s met many strangers before in the streets. But he can’t stop this sinking feeling inside his chest, an abyss that hungers and it eats, leaving nothing but guilt, of what if’s. Wu stands there in the street like an idiot. There’s nothing to stare at. The boy is gone. It’s getting darker. And all that’s left is that phantom moment of when they meet each other’s eyes.
Relationships: Mako/Prince Wu (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. taking root

**Author's Note:**

> couple of things:  
> 1\. This will be multi chaptered with about 30-40k words  
> 2\. This will expand on Wu’s and mako’s backstory and will be altered  
> 3\. The ending of this fic will be up to interpretation and will be rather vague 
> 
> kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated

Wu likes going outside. His house sometimes feels like it’s suffocating him, making him forget how to breathe. His room, the giant house, is like a golden and sparkly cage, full of expensive toys and furniture to fill the empty spaces. His mum and dad aren’t home much, always out and about, at work or somewhere else. When they are home however, they treat him like he doesn’t exist, a mere ghost of an ignored child.

He isn’t a child. He’s eighteen and he’s just starting uni. 

He just got out of his first class, Earth Kingdom history and politics. He liked that class, how he can just highlight texts, write down notes and absorb all of the information as quickly as possible. He likes learning, finding about the secrets, the history of the very earth that he’s standing right now. Wu looks over to his left, seeing a sweet girl with brown hair that sits on her shoulders, wearing a gorgeous green dress with a flower pattern that hugs her body so perfectly well. Props to her tailor if he’s gotta be honest.

He gives her a quick wink and when she catches it, there’s a soft giggle that she hides with a fan. Wu flashes her a smile, but the unsettling feeling in his stomach that weighs him down is thick and heavy as he walks faster down the stairs. The street is full of expensive houses, built with care for the upper ring settlers.

He has to get out here.

Wu finds a quiet corner in the alley way and he lets himself collapse, just a little bit, to let it leak into the floor, a sick, ugly ooze that’s the colour of the abyss. It is utterly  _ lonely  _ and  _ terrifying  _ to put on an act, to force himself to look at  _ her  _ and to give the girls soft winks and laughter that fills the whole room. He hates pretending. If he could, and if he can he would get out of Ba Sing Se. 

The thought strikes him. He could do it. He’s heard his distant relatives go on treacherous journeys, climbing the tallest peaks of the mountains, delving deep into the forest with nothing but their wits with them. Wu could do it, he could leave, take off the shackles of Ba Sing Se and these walls and venture above what he could see in fairy tales and books that he reads. He would be free, feel the wind on his face while he yells in joy.

But he’s also terrified to step out of bonds.

“I’m pathetic,” he whispers as he steps back out onto the streets, fixing his hair that he’s spent so much time putting wax on, “why am I like this. I mean… I'll probably get captured by some fire nation solders and get ransomed or something.”

Yeah. He’ll definitely die if he steps a single  _ foot  _ outside these walls. He sighs, he’s down while he carries his books in a suitcase. It feels hot under his green suit, but it’s the perfect thing to wear for his first day of schools

———-

When he gets him, he’s greeted by staff by the hallway. He lets himself get carried away, as they usher him into the ‘spa room’ which is just a small room made of stone. The room is hot due a furnace, the fog fumes and fills the whole room while he feels his body easy, stress getting released by sweat while his face mask settles onto his face.

It’s nice, getting pampered, to be his best form and his softest skin. He sighs, taking off the cucumber off his eyes as he sits up from the bed that’s placed in the centre of the room. Smokes rises from the sides of the room from the furnace under, his skin itching with sweat. He sits up, looking through the window, watching the vast amount of buildings that stretches, the walls that separate the rich and the poor.

Each house and each building has a life different than his, an entire story on the lines on their palm or the way the act or talk. They have friends and families waiting for them in their homes when they go to work. Or perhaps they’re entirely all on their alone, only living because the thought of ending it all is something that is terrifying.

What would happen if you would die? Would it just be pure darkness, pitch black? Wu didn’t care about the ethics or the afterlife. He’s doing humanity classes, spanning from history all the way from philosophy with a bit of writing in between. Perhaps, the worst thing to ever happen to someone is to leave earth without ever meeting your soulmate. It’s almost a curse on itself, never meeting someone who could hold your gaze and look at you like you’re worth a thousand suns.

Wu thinks that’s how he’ll end up. It is destiny. He’ll end up marrying a nice, perfect wife and settle down in the inner walls, protected from everyone while they birth three normal and happy children. But it’ll all be built on shaky foundations, through lies and false promises. It’ll all come down when the foundations collapse, it’ll leave a sick lie and they’ll never look at him the same.

Maybe he’ll get executed. He’s heard the stories of when their secrets spill out open all ugly that ripples, leaving behind torn families and chaos. He’s heard through whispers, family members being taken away because of their love they cannot control. 

He sighs, standing up to take off the face mask of his face by the basin. He lets the cool water run through him, and when he takes it off he sees the reflection in the clear water, ripples dissorting his reflection. He sees himself with green eyes that hold deep forests, of an entire wilderness. 

_ Maybe the worst thing to ever happen to someone is to leave earth without ever seeing their soulmate. _

It cuts him deep, the blood internally bleeding. The pressure builds and sinks and the hold on the basin tightens, knuckles going white.

_ Why is he looking at her and not  _ **_me_ **

A knock from the door pulls him out of his thoughts. It’s like ice water is on him, shock coming through him while he lets out shaky breaths.

“Are you alright in there sir? You’re going to overheat.”

“I’m getting out soon,” he says back.

———-

The newspaper is full of mundane news. Nothing about the war that rages outside these walls. An unspoken rule to  _ never  _ speak about the war, to pretend and to go on like its any other day. It’s an unsettling feeling that sit at his stomach as he flicks through the newspaper, seeing mundane news about a kitten stuck on a tree of plans about opening up new buildings on the middle walls. 

It’s the same thing everyday. Same thing rolls onto the next day on the other. A numbing and mindless cycle, it’ll forever repeat itself. Is this what all there it’ll be? Will he spent his day within these walls, to rot away his years in an unhappy marriage, keeping it all sealed under his stitched lips. 

He needs air. He needs to go outside. Wu pauses the hallways hung up, distant relatives on the throne that he can’t recognise. Half of the things here are inherited from royalty, being distant royalty has perks from getting a place in the inner walls to priceless junk that fills up the lonely house. It’s late in the afternoon, people already rushing to get home.

The clouds look like it’s been spilled with liquid gold, a soft yellow contrasting the white clouds and the bright blue sky. He can’t see the sun anymore, it’s hiding behind the giant walls, thick and high. But then there’s tiny peaks of golden lights that spill out of the wall, just a little bit.

“Master Wu just a reminder that your parents won’t be home for a few weeks,” one of the staff says when he goes to the hallway, yet again full of priceless junk that glints.

“Oh,” he says, “they must be busy. That’s fine.”

He’s used to it, he’s lived his life being all alone, wandering the giant but lonely hallways with self portrait paintings of random relatives with pretty accessories and boring faces. He’ll get his own painting soon, and he’ll have it hanging up on of the many winding hallways in this house. It’s strange and weird, he’ll have his own face, a memory, something that he was and he was alive.

He doesn’t know what kind of thing he’ll leave behind. Many of his relatives are great warriors or someone who was advisors to the king. He doesn’t like any of those things. He might have to go into politics, no matter how much he hates it he knows how to make people tick and how to deal with them, how to talk to them. He will have to play them like a puppet and he’ll wish for someone to just kill him right there and then every time he does it.

Is this what he’s destined to? Just to become another corrupt politician, another pawn in the King’s game. Or perhaps just a pile of dust in front of the Grand Secretariat. He’s heard the whispers from his dad, about how the king is just a mere puppet. 

“I’ll just be going for a walk,” he says to the guard at the door, he nods and holds the door open, a sharp spear at his side. 

When he walks down the steps he sees a boy, probably just around his age leaning against the stone white wall. Wu crosses the bridge closer to him, to see him better, like he’s something that’s entirely new, a spark, a fire in his forest. He can hear the soft stream of the water beneath him.

There’s something strange that Wu can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s the way that the green hat with a metal point made of gold is just a bit too big on him. Or how the green robe that he wears slumps around his shoulders, the yellow cuffs with green accents is a bit too small on him and how the black pants that he wears are too long. The brown shoes fit him just fine however.

When he looks up, something ignites in Wu, a spark, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It surges through the earth, rising and rising until it hits the sky and makes the trees in his wilderness dance in the wind or feel the sudden undertow of a speeding gust. It is something exciting yet  _ dangerous _ .

  
Something that he has to hide.

The boy has amber eyes that swirls with warmth, of something unreadable. Lips pressing into a thin line while his jawline is sharp, just like girls like guys to look like. Something that is forged, drawn and sculptures based on gods, on written books. They always describe them as someone who is unearthly, unbound, ethereal,  _ indescribable. _

And this boy is the best is as close to the gods he’ll get. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” Wu says, eyes glancing towards the symbol on the centre of the robe, a circle with a yellow line surrounding a green circle, with a small yellow dot. It’s slightly faded.

“I’m new,” he says. He looks at Wu for a second. Amber eyes meeting Emerald eyes. Fire and forest. He tips his hat to hide his face, “refugee, one my relatives resides in the inner walls.”

“I can take you to them--”   
  
“ _ I’m fine _ ,” the boy says, with bite, with venom. Something Wu is used to. He puts his hand up to protect himself, a reflex from his childhood. Mako looks at him all strangely, and he mistakes it as something apologetic.

“I should go,” the boy says, looking down the street where people like him are dressed the same, “they’re waiting for me.”

The boy walks off like Wu doesn’t exist, something twists and worms its way into Wu’s core and it  _ hurts _ . He watches him get smaller and smaller until he’s just the size of a nail, something small, something insignificant. But he’s not to Wu. He should’ve pulled on his wrist and told him to stay for just a little while longer to talk to him. He should’ve talked to him more nicely, he should’ve done  _ more _ .

Now that boy will just become another faceless stranger, a memory, a moment that will be something significant in years, and when he’s older he can’t quite put his finger on why it’s important. It will eat him alive, it will sink it’s teeth and corrode him to the very core of the things he should’ve done when he becomes just another memory.

He shouldn’t be thinking of these things. That boy is just a stranger. He’s met many strangers before in the streets. But he can’t stop this sinking feeling inside his chest, an abyss that hungers and it eats, leaving nothing but guilt, of what if’s. Wu stands there in the street like an idiot. There’s nothing to stare at. The boy is gone. It’s getting darker. And all that’s left is that phantom moment of when they meet each other’s eyes.

———-

It’s deep into the night and he’s head deep into assignments. Pouring over written essays about the philosophy of Earth kings, past and presents. The political climate of past eras in Ba Sing Se. The history behind the six-hundred-day siege and how the earth warriors fought back gravely.

  
And an unfinished poem in his English class that only has one line that says:

_ I wished I said more before you walked off _

He sighs, pushing off all of his textbooks to the side and he leans back, looking up at the ceiling that’s carefully carved with golden accents and texts. His room is huge, always sparkling. His bed has a golden frame that twists and turns into intricate designs. He has another room for his clothes, filling up with slightly different variations of his green suit. The carpet beneath his feet is from the fur of a bear, and the bedside table is made of rare mahogany wood.

The rest of the things in his room are mere gifts. Expensive cologne that smells of royalty and gems that makes his nose hurt. The chandelier that hangs from the centre of his room that is reminiscent of dragons, sparkling with diamond that’s found deep in the ground. The chair that he’s sitting on that’s made from the most prestigious chair making industry (he didn’t know that existed).

Everything here is just made to fill up space. It suffocates him every now and then.

He sighs, fixing the robe around him to make it tighter. He arranges the lamp on his desk, turning it dimmer with the crank as it whines. He moves the tiny trinkets from his desk, tiny glass carvings to forgotten family photos. His desk probably represents just a little bit of him, just a drop of colour in the white and black screen.

Even if it’s just silly trinkets or photos.

He looks back to his unfinished poem that he has to submit as an assignment in three months. Making up 20% of his grades. No big deal, nothing he should be worried about, it’s so faraway. Yet, when he puts the pencil in his hands he struggles to write, like he can’t put it to words.

It shouldn’t matter. Just splurge a bunch of random words and somehow make it coherent. He holds his hand steady, the lead of the pencil hovering over the paper.

_ I wished I said more before you walked off _

“But what if what I said made it worse,” he mumbles.

He groans, slumping as he buries his face into the arms on his desk. There’s a thrum of silence in the night, it’s always been like this. Everyone hushes into their homes when it’s night in the inner ring, and the guards patrol the streets when someone is out they pull him into the alleyway and after five minutes they suddenly look like they forgot where they were.

_ But what if I what I said made it worse _

_ “You always made things worse Wu! You embarrassed us in front of the king!” _

He 

Was

Just

**_Twelve_ **

**But it didn’t matter to them**

He scrunches the paper and throws it. The sudden thrum of fury is gone, and what’s left is an overwhelming feeling of numbness that takes over him. Wu slips on his slippers and walks out of his room, walking in the dim hallways, memories of his childhood quickly slipping and fading.

Just bits and pieces. Not enough to remember the whole but he remembers the doors that were locked and the eyes that barely looked at him. He has a place that he goes to, hidden away from everyone else. It’s just at the border of the inner walls, and to get to it is through the tunnels in his backyard dug by badgermoles.

“Hey guys,” he whispers, the two of them are fast asleep in the hole in the ground, soft snores echo in the tunnel, “sorry.”

He pulls out the tiny lamp from his pocket when the moonlight no longer reaches. It casts everything in a soft, warm hue of yellow as his eyes trace the stones, the dirt, the roots of trees that run deep. Dripping noises of water fills the silences.

It takes him twenty minutes to get to the other end, it opens into a huge open field of grass that reaches up to his ankles. He turns off the locket and his eyes look up to the giant wall, there’s markings and scratches and ferns that tell the toll of time it has on the walls. Wu looks all around him, the buildings and the cities are all asleep and it’s just him, alone, in a field of grass.

No one can see him here. Too far away, it’s an abandoned part of the inner walls that’s supposed to be for farming but the soil was too poor to grow any crops in. Now it’s just left in a field of grass, sometimes used for recreational parties but most of the time it’s empty. He sits on the grass and he feels the wind whip around him, rustling the grass as it passes.

There’s something quiet and peaceful, the way that everything is quiet and still. The moon casts her light onto the grass, bathing everything in her beautiful soft, hue of blue, reminiscent of the sea of the skies above him. He remembers parts of playing in the grass, of cheeks that’s wet and sticky with juice.

He sighs, and he tries to muster sweet memories of his childhood. 

He can’t get anything.

He drifts off to sleep.

_ I wished I said more before you walked away _

———-

_ You can now _

He wakes up to the sound of grunting and a yelp. He quickly sits up. There, right at the tunnel he sees a figure bleeding out. Wu runs towards them, hands shaky while the grass tickles his ankles.

“Stop walking!”

  
They answer with a giant blast of fire that lights up the field with the fury of a thousand suns, briefly bathing everything in an angry array of reds and yellows. After it ends it leaves behind scorched ends of the grass, an ugly black tar.

“If you keep doing that you’ll attract them!”

The figure collapses.

Wu runs towards them. He sees the cuts within their robes, blood blooming through their clothing. He can see the tiny shards of rock that’s wedged deep into the skin, tearing through the fabric. He knows a little bit of first aid and how to heal wounds, but not enough.

“Are you okay?” Wu puts his palm above where their heart is, he feels the soft thrum of a heartbeat, “answer me.”

Their eyes open amidst the shadow of their giant hat.

Amber eyes.

It’s him. That boy that he saw in the street. That boy that ignited a spark inside his chest that he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“Please don’t kill me,” he whispers, full of pain and misery, there something vulnerable and private about the way that he talks, something that feels like Wu shouldn’t be hearing this.

“What do you mean, I’m not gonna kill you.”

“I’m the enemy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a fire nation soldier.”

The words ring heavily. He could kill him right here, under the silver moonlight in the vast field of grass. The fire nation is the enemy and something that should be feared, it’s woven into children's stories and into the memories of refugees who have lost entire villages and families, and they are the only ones left in their families. The fire nation is full of fury that leaves behind the awakening of death behind them, no one talks about within these walls.

“You’re a fire nation soldier,” Wu says, letting it roll out of his tongue, “tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere,” he says, coughing out blood from his mouth.

Wu breathes out a shake laugh, “you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

He takes off the hat from him, revealing a sad smile. He lays it beside him, hands shaky, not knowing what to do, “can you sit up?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“ _ Shit _ … uhh hang on this might sound weird but just bare with me.”

Wu clears his throat before singing, “ _ badgermoles, get me something please otherwise someone will die, badgermoles—“ _

The ground beneath them shakes heavily until a hole appears on the ground. One of the badgermoles peeks through the whole, revealing its long nose while it holds a couple of bandages.

“Where did you get—doesn’t matter, thanks badgermoles,” Wu says.

It makes a soft noise before digging back down under. Wu returns back to him, kneeling beside him while opening his robe. He wears a white tank top that’s all dirty, stained with blood that stinks to the muscles of his chest. His fingers linger around the wounds, biting his lip. 

He’s careful when bandaging him, here’s gonna have to clean the wounds and sterilise but stopping the bleeding is crucial. He’s careful when doing it, like Mako is a brittle thing that can shatter within seconds. His fingers are gentle, doing the wrapping slowly, trying to make Mako groan as little as possible.

He looks over to the stones that sinks deep into his skin. He can’t take it out right here, he’s done the best that he can. He rolled up the sleeves to patch the wounds on his shoulder, on his and on his chest. His fingers lingers on the bandages on his chest, he wants to trace the very bumps, the muscles on his chest. 

But he can’t.

He suddenly retracts, looking back at him, the boy. He looks like he’s at peace, with his hair all ruffled and dirt that stains his cheek. He looks like he’s used to this, the chaos and the dirt and the mess, like it’s his playground. Wu helps him up to sit up, there’s a sharp groan that fills the air.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t check if your back was broken—“

“I’m fine,” he grits, they both stand up, him leaning on Wu. He realises how close he is to him as they walk back to the tunnel with his lamp out. He’s heavy, but not too heavy. Maybe it’s because Wu hasn’t lifted any weights, isn’t active unlike his peers. He sometimes hears about them playing sports, deep into the mud while they shout as they score a goal.

He never really understood them.

“What’s your name?” The words come out of his mouth before he can reel it back in. Silence falls between them and it’s still and heavy. He wants to go back so he can  _ never _ say those words.

“I haven’t had anyone ask me that in a long time,” is all he says. It’s full of bittersweet sadness, but when Wu looks at him there’s a soft smile on his face, followed by a painful sob that reeks through the air. 

He leans against Wu, placing all of his weight on him, forehead on his shoulder. He shakes, the sound did sibs coming all broken and painful, like a rusty tap. Wu knows this, the type of sob that comes has been kept inside, bubbling and building up all the pressure inside. He’s been through it, he’s been doing it all his life.

So that’s when he’s learned to release it in the field of grass. This boy didn’t learn, and now everything comes all ugly while Wu carries them through the tunnel, the sobs coming out all ugly and rusty. He tried to hold him tighter, hoping that’ll extra feeling of pressure will ground the boy, who was just a mere stranger. 

Everything in him wants to stop, to look him in the eye and to hold his eyes and to whisper  _ I want to fight everyone who has hurt you,  _ while Wu wipes away the hot tears that stream down his face. Instead it’s awkward, the boy leaning on him sobbing while Wu tries his best to give comfort. He doesn’t think about how to think, he doesn’t remember the moments where his parents gave him comfort, where he would feel his father's comforting words of how well they’re doing.

“I’m sorry,” is what the boy manages to say, “I’m pathetic.”

They walk out of the tunnel, the moon is now hiding behind clouds, “it’s okay,” Wu replies. They stumble inside. The boy bites down on his lip as he winces when they get into the hallway, trying their best to not get caught by the staff in the house. They manage to get inside Wu’s room. The boy looks in awe like he’s seen a pile of gold, of giant riches and glinting gold.

Wu places him on the bed and receives a grunt. He kneels to find the first-aid kid under his bed, a precaution he’s always had. Just in case. There’s more cleaning products here, from scissors to more bandages to hospital grade alcohol.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Wu breathes out. 

The boy sits up with a sharp wince, “hand it to me.” 

He does. He gives him the whole tub full of applicants. Wu watches him wince as he downs some painkillers, pausing, slowly breathing in and out then releasing a soft groan when he pulls out one of the stone spikes incensed on his bruised chest. 

“Are you okay? I can help—“

“I’m fine,” he says. He cleans the surrounding wound with the alcohol and wipes away the blood a clean cloth before covering it with a bandage. He does the same with the other spikes. Every time he does it he feels horrible, wanting to reach out, to ease the pain. 

The moon comes out of hiding and shines her silver light on his body, giving him the appearance like he’s something  _ ghostly _ . The blood sparkles in the moonlight, his chest slowly rising and falling. He takes the last one with a grunt, and it fall to the ground with a thud.

Silence stretches between them. There’s a hair that Wu wants to tuck behind his ear.

“My name is Mako,” he breathes out.

“Mako…” he tests the name, Mako. 

Mako. The boy’s name is Mako. Wu likes that name. 

“My name is Wu,” he whispers.

“Wu…” Mako says, testing out the name, “why did you save me?”

“I don’t know.”

“I might end up killing you.”

“Then so be it.”

There’s a shaky laugh that comes out of Mako, which follows a groan. No more laughs for him. Wu sighs, looking at the bed, surprised that it isn’t stained with blood. His eyes linger on him, tracing the outline of his body, his face, his tank top.

“Do you need anything else?” Wu asks.

Mako shakes his head, “I just need some rest. Water in the morning would be fine though.”

“All right.”

And they leave it at that. Wu doesn’t sleep at his bed. He sits on his chair, looking at Mako not like the enemy like he should be but someone who’s fragile, just picking up the broken pieces and putting themselves back together. Fire nation soldiers couldn’t be like him, with softness that sometimes surfaces through his vulnerable moments before covering it up with roughness and a fake face. 

Wu wonders what’s underneath through all of that. Maybe there’s something else within those amber eyes. It’s a thought that ponders on when he sees Mako drift off to sleep so peacefully, hands on his chest interlocked while it rises and falls. He isn’t the brooding and tough fire soldier that Wu saw.

He looks like someone who’s just another human being with his eyes all crinkling. He wonders if Mako has a wife, or perhaps a girlfriend back home. Will she be there, waiting outside for him to come back home? With her blonde eyes and pretty blue eyes, deeper and brighter than the ocean itself. She’ll be a sigh for sore eyes. Mako must have a good life back home, all peaceful and cozy. He’ll settle down when he’s thirty and start a happy little family with children. He’ll do his same routine everyday.

Wake up.

Work.

Eat. 

Sleep.

Repeat.

Yeah. Mako would be the type of person to be like that. So that feels just like a prison, he doesn’t get the appeal. But he must be hiding something, a secret in those amber eyes. 

He sighs, slowly drifting off to sleep. He dreams of a fireplace, and a wilderness that whirls all around him.

  
  
  



	2. shaky grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello wuko stans whats up a reminder that mako and wu are really bad communicators and angsty fucks, the next two chapters will probably them actually making up or something idk
> 
> kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated <3

When Wu wakes up, Mako is still fast asleep. The sun is just about the rise, peeks of sunlight breaking through the darkness of the sky. He walks over to him slowly, afraid that he’ll break his sleep, that he’s so fragile that just a single misstep will wake him. There’s something soft and vulnerable about him sleeping, something that he shouldn’t be seeing. The way his chest rises and falls. Or how calm he looks, his face relaxed.

And if he could, he would let his hands trade his features, his chest, let it roam like Mako is an uncharted memory that he is still trying to get back. He sighs. There’s no use thinking about these things. He goes out of the room and is greeted by the staff, he says to them to not go into his room and he’ll clean it himself for the next three months.

They all nod without question.

The cook in the kitchen makes breakfast for him. Just sausages and eggs, perfectly cooked, void of many mistakes from laughter or silly moments in the kitchen. It’s too perfect and it tastes too good. He goes back to his room, opening the door to meet—

“Stay back.”

Mako is already up, brandishing a fiery knife that is coated with golden sunlight. He’s still in a hurry, he can see it through how he stands and how he clutches his arm holding the fire knife. How he grits his teeth and how his ragged breath fills the room. He’s a wounded animal trapped in a cage.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” he says, slowly making his way to his desk, remnants of what happened last night. Textbooks and pieces of paper, rushed notes and a scrunched up paper of his unfinished poem.

“You could have.”

“I’m a fucking stick Mako,” he sets down the plate.

“You could have thrown me in jail already, but you didn’t,” he scowls, putting his back foot behind him, “ _why?”_

It hauntingly echoes inside him. The truth is, he doesn’t quite know. He doesn’t know why he’s keeping a firebender inside his home, in his bedroom. But there’s a part of him that wants to believe that he’s _different,_ that he isn’t like them. There _must_ be something in those amber eyes, something that holds more than blood and fury and killing. There must be joy in there, of nostalgic memories in cheeky smiles. It must be there, hidden by the swirling clouds of his eyes, the same colour of Jupiter.

“I don’t know…” is all Wu says.

Mako groans, cursing, “you don’t know? I’m a _firebender_ ,” he says revoltingly, “you should hate me.”

Wu can’t bring himself to hate him. He doesn’t know why. He hates that he doesn’t know why. 

“You’re not like _them_.”

He chuckles, “a lion in a cage is still a lion.”

“You’re not a lion, you’re not like them.”

Something _flickers_ in Mako’s eyes, a glint. He quickly covers it up with a scowl, growing his knife into a dagger as he tries to lunge at Wu but collapses to the ground with a yelp.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he kneels in front of him, the fire fizzling out of his hand. He helps him stand up, leaning against him to sit him back to the bed, “just stay here.”

“You could go to jail for keeping me in.”

“It’ll be the only thing that’s exciting that could happen to me.”

He pulls out the tub from underneath the bed and places it on top, taking out the bandages and the alcohol and the painkillers. Wu’s eyes glances over to Mako for approval, he gives a quiet nod. When he puts his hand over the bushes on Mako’s chest he flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing lightly to feel the ribs, “I think they’re not broken, just bruised.”

“Okay,” Mako mumbles, he’s tense in his shoulders, avoiding Wu’s gaze, like he’s something that’ll put his fire out, like water to fire. It’s the other way around. Mako will light him on fire, letting the black smoke fill the sky while the forest burns to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be helping me,” Mako says.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because out of my eighteen years,” he takes off the cloak and lets it hang around his waist, “all I had was boredom.”

Wu has to resists from looking at the bruises any longer, to the muscles on his stomach that’s looks chiseled. 

“I can kill you in any second if I wanted.”

Wu takes off one of the bandages to see if the wound needs cleaning. It doesn’t, “you could’ve done it a long time ago. But you didn’t. Why?”

When Wu looks back at Mako there’s that flint, that shift behind his eyes. His eyes glances towards the window instead, yet again avoiding his eyes. Mako doesn’t say anything when Wu checks the wounds and his ribs, letting his fingers linger for just a little bit longer before he has to pull it out. 

“I uh… told the staff to not go into my room so you should be fine.”

“You live in a mansion?”

“I’m a distant relative to the throne—“

He’s interrupted by Mako pushing him up against the wall, brandishing the dagger that flickers with hot flame. He can feel the heat on his cheek, and Mako’s deathly gaze, scowl full of fury. He’s getting bits of Mako now, he’s someone whos rough around the edge, bold and brash, wrathful and violent who’s ready to slit someone's throat, to let the blood spill all across the room.

“Tell me _everything_ ,” his hold on him tightens. They’re so close to each other. A mere five inches.

“They don’t tell me much if I’m gonna be honest, I’m not _that_ important.”

“Then why do you live in the inner walls.”

“Because I’m part of the royal bloodline? But everything here is hand me downs,” Wu says, “they don’t tell me anything, I’m a mere child to them, a kid shouldn’t be concerned with politics.”

He brings the knife closer to my cheek, the heat growing hotter and hotter, “you’re lying, I should kill you.”

“How do you know that I’m lying?” Wu pauses, bobbing his throat before continuing as he looks at him in the eye with such calmness “kill me then, take me out. There’s nothing that’s keeping me here anyway.”

Mako scowls. But then everything falls apart when they hold each other’s gaze. There’s a tinge angry melancholy in the colour of red that stands out in his amber eyes, then a wash of sadness, of an undercurrent pulling underneath him makes him look away from Wu.

He lets go of Wu too quickly.

Wu sucks in a heavy amount of air, hand over where Mako’s hand was that pushed him up against the wall, the phantom pressure, the shaky hand of his. It’s strange. He pulls the robe that he has on tighter, mumbling something that he’s going to change. Mako doesn’t say anything back.

When he changes into his green suit he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the flash of green eyes that sparkles with something, of futures that he can’t have. Wu shakes his head and laughs at the thought, he’s a firebender, an enemy of Ba Sing Se despite the prompt of war is something that is never brought up in the inner walls. He shouldn’t chase these feelings for a boy. It is _deadly_ and frowned up, he’s heard of the stories of the stories where people were executed. 

Wu bites his lip when he puts on his suit, not looking at the mirror anymore. Shove all these feelings down six feet deep into the earth of his forest, pile it with a heavy boulder so it won’t ever rise up again. He can’t chase this feeling. When they touch, a spark of flame will light the forest. They will burst into a grown wildfire.

He does his routine quickly. Wanting to get out of his room. He does his hair and skincare routine in the dressing room and when he comes out Mako is still on the bed, sitting near the tub while he tends to his wounds, like a hurt lion licking away the blood. He looks over to the plate on his desk, licked clean.

“You were really hungry weren’t you?” Wu asks, smiling.

He doesn’t answer.

“Don’t leave this room,” Wu fixes his tie, “I have class, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

When he gets out of the room the door shutting behind him echoes and rings, it haunts him. He should skip today, tend to Mako and see if he’s okay, if he’s alright. He shouldn’t have left, to go to a stupid class with stupid people that he has to sweet talk to get what he wants. He should’ve stayed behind, to use the excuse to tend to Mako, to see if he’s safe to mask his eyes wanting to stare at him.

He bites his lip, shakes his head as he goes outside. The sun prickles his back and he’s drifted off by a cart driven by horses. He pulls the blinds on the window, not wanting to look outside. It’s all the same anyway, all priceless huge mansions with sloping roofs and pretty gardens that all in the expense of looking pretty.

_“Once you’re older, you will inherit a lot of this Wu. You will become a great politician, you’ll hold so much power and become the youngest advisor. Don’t disappoint us with your silly history classes.”_

It’s daunting. Having to live up to expectation that he was born into. He feels like a child, a kid, sitting on a throne while they all surround him. A mere kid in the middle of tall grownups, with cheeky smiles and telling him he’ll do great things.

———

He’s sitting in his history class learning about the age of Kyoshi and the so-called ‘golden age of Ba Sing Se’. The professor yabbles on about her great power, building an entire elite organisation of earthbenders, aiming to protect the culture and heritage of Ba Sing Se. 

“It was her steadfast presence,” she writes something on the blackboard behind her before continuing, “and determination that she made grew a new age of earthbenders, who acted with foot on the ground. They are grounded and unyielding, and they hold what it means to be a part of Ba Sing Se.”

More swift note taking. Wu sighs and writes summarised notes about her. He shifts uncomfortable in his seat, turning his book to the next page.

“The Dai Li are fearsome warriors who hold Ba Sing Se’s traditions,” she brings up a picture of the Dai Li, their face holding no emotion, only a thin line, “you have _no_ idea how lucky you are hearing about the Dai Li, the are a secretive police force. The education department recently just gave us the thumbs up to even _briefly_ mention them. If I speak anymore I’m afraid I’ll be overstepping boundaries.”

One of the students puts her hands up and asks, “why are we just learning about this? I haven’t even heard of them.”

“I don’t know,” is all the professor says. She puts her hair in a low ponytail, sighing as she moves onto the next subject. Wu already looked through Avatar Kyoshi’s history to prepare for the exam, knowing her struggles and being an orphan. Being thrown out into the streets, left to defend for herself.

Wu can’t imagine what it would’ve been like. He can sympathise, but not empathise. 

He slowly tunes out and finds himself staring out of the window. Buildings stretch on until it hits the giant wall. He’s never really been outside of the inner walls, his parents constricting him to his room and nowhere else, sometimes only going outside for mere flashes of his childhood.

He is a lonely child, keeping to himself. When he grew older he’s no longer constricted, the cage was free, yet he couldn't leave. It’s like the very cage, the darkness becomes comfort, the sense of familiarity that is grounding. He knows he can leave the inner walls, to venture out and see more of what’s out there.

But he’s been conditioned to keep to himself.

He will probably never see what’s outside of these walls, even if the war ends (something that shouldn’t be brought up within these walls). Wu imagines the outer walls to be full of life, bustling streets with children clinging to their parents while they shop for food to provide for their family. It would be full of simple families and simple lives, with sprawling fields and farms.

Wu often wonders what life would be like if he was a simple boy and he wasn’t related to the throne. If he was, he would see himself living in the middle to outer walls, running around in the vast grass of plain field with the wind behind his back, his cheeks hurting from smiling too much while he rides on the sweet innocence of childhood.

He’ll be an earthbender, he always wanted to be an earthbender. He would be a son to a small family of four, and he’ll be the youngest. His dad would work in the stall with his mother while he sometimes helps, and sometimes messes around with his younger sister. It’ll be a simple, humble life that he’ll live.

He’ll be nobody. Just another human being, another face, another number in the kingdom. He thinks that’s okay to him. To live a simple life. It might just be a less shiny version of the open cage that he’s in, but at least he can fool himself. To live a humble life.

———

When he gets back to the house he immediately runs to his room, his legs feel like lead but it’s fine because he needs to see Mako--

And he’s not there.

All he leaves behind is an open window, with the curtains billowing from the wind. His stomach lurches with ache, a twisting painful feeling of the thought that Mako is gone. That Mako doesn’t trust him, he’s out here in the inner walls, a hurt _firebender_ out and about. He should’ve seen it coming, he thought that Mako trusted him enough.

And now the room lingers with phantom memories that shouldn’t mean anything. He runs out of the room, ignoring the weird stares that he gets from the staff. He could be anywhere, out in the streets. Maybe he’s already been captured, already rotting away behind bars. His heartbeat echoes in his ears and the thought of Mako being out there in _danger_ sends a shiver all over his body like he’s cold.

His thoughts are already running rampant. Already coming up with scenarios as he runs down the stairs, calling his driver to set up the cart and horse again. His hair is already turning frizzled and messy but that’s okay, he needs to get Mako, wherever he is. Something thrums inside him, a spark amidst the light.

He doesn’t know why he’s rushing after him. He’s an enemy. He’s a firebender. He should let him rot away behind bars and to let whoever finds him do whatever they want, maybe to interrogate and to let him slowly suffer, to let pain be worse than death itself. Wu should be happy about that.

  
But the thought of anything happening to Mako sends a painful thrum inside his heart. He doesn’t know _why_ , it’s a mystery. He wants it to stop, he knows that this _feeling_ is something he shouldn’t chase, that this will end up burning the two of them. Wu shouldn’t be feeling _this_ towards him. Wu shouldn’t be feeling _this_ towards a firebender.

Yet he is.

And it is a terrifying thing that makes him relive of his younger self, secluding himself from everyone in the classroom while they gleamed with joy. He stared at this specific boy, with a devilish smile and eyes that gleams of brown eyes. Eyes that reminds him of the earth, deep and rich, holding the secrets of his forest and what started it in the first place. He was twelve then, staring at this curly haired boy while he showed off his earthbending skills.

He wished that that boy looked at _him_ , but instead looked at this pretty girl with blonde hair and eyes that sparkles of the very oceans. She was a sight for sore eyes. He hated her then. But now Wu wonders where they are.

And these very thoughts scramble all around him when he talks to the driver on where to go, peering out of the window to try to find Mako. He bites his lip, yelling at the driver to go faster. His fingers thrum with adrenaline and fear.

“Where the hell are you,” he mumbles to himself, “I shouldn’t have left you alone… I should that’s left the house.”

_I should’ve stayed with you_.

But he doesn’t say that.

All he sees outside of his window is more pretentious houses, all two or three stories high with red sloping roofs. He looks through every nook, every crook and every alley that he can, to see a small figure in a cloak bleeding out, afraid, shaking.

Seconds ticks by. Turning into minutes then stretching into hours. Three hours have passed. He didn’t find him. He fights the urge to cry. Boys don’t cry. He does, but just not out in public. He bites his lips after he tells his driver to go back to the house. Once he gets there he runs to his backyard to talk to his badgermoles in the tunnel.

He finds Mako there, stuck, the earth reaching up to his shoulders. The badgermoles sleep soundly next to Mako.

“Oh thank god you’re okay,” is all Wu manages to break out, relief releasing from his tense shoulders. He walks deeper into the tunnel, the earth damp beneath his feet.

“Get away!” Mako breathes out a puff of fire that sends Wu back, hands in the air. The badgermoles tussle out of sleep, groaning as their eyes open.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Just _please_ come back to the house, you'll be safer there.”

“You’re lying.”

_“You’re nothing but a lie Wu! How dare you lie in front of your own Mother!”_

_He_

_Just_

_Wanted_

_To_

_Go_

_Outside._

Wu almost breaks down, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He feels like breaking, to fall apart and never come out of his room. To stay there until the end of time, until everything is all ugly outside and to mop. He can still recall his father's voice booming loud enough to make the furniture shake, to let the priceless antiques shatter against the newly polished floor.

He freezes, his lips going shut, a habit. 

The badgermoles slowly rise, groaning while the earth shakes. Mako groans, squirming to try to get off. But everything blurs all around Wu and it cuts him out with _his_ voice—“

“Wu!” He yells out. Needy. He _needs_ Wu. No one has ever said that to him. Wu watches his eyes build with panic, the slabs of earth pressing harsher to him while the badgermoles moan angrily, echoing throughout the tunnel.

“Badgermoles!”

Everything goes to a still. It’s just him and Mako breathing now.

“He’s a friend,” Wu breathes out, not wanting to sing. He’s too drained to do so, “please _don’t_ hurt him.

Their snouts press against Mako’s messy hair, sniffling his scent, the claws just a few inches away from Mako’s face. The both of them look at each other, pausing, like they’re communicating to each other telepathically.

They loosen the hold on Mako, just a little bit.

“Thank you,” Wu says. He gets closer to Mako, his hand on his cheek, seeing if he has any bruises, any cuts besides the dirt on his cheek, “are you hurt? Are you okay? Why were you even out here?”

“I was looking for someone!”

“Who?!”

Silence. It’s deafening and rings inside his ears. The badgermoles lul themselves to sleep. It leaves just the two of them. Wu blinks away the tears that formed a few moments ago.

“None of your business,” Mako sputters, looking away, he’s out of Wu’s grasp now. He takes a couple of steps back and sits down on the floor.

“You could’ve _died_. Or worse. There’s rumours going around by brainwashing by Dai Li.”

“Why do you care so much about me!” Mako says.

“I don’t know,” Wu lets his finger roam through his hair, undoing the work of the gel and letting it turn into soft curls. His mother always said his curls looked better on him. His father disagreed, “I don’t know. I just… you land in front of me and I thought I could help you. I-I could be useful for once,” Wu lets a sad smile through, “that I’m not just a spoiled, royal rich kid.”

When he looks up, he finds Mako’s eyes on him. His amber eyes swirl with something, closer to the surface, still not quite readable. He wonders what he’s been through, what his childhood is. He must be the top of his class, with an unwavering grit and fury, fit for a firebender soldier. Mako’s expression softens, the tension falling off like a broken clay mask.

“You shouldn’t be helping me.”

“One firebender wouldn’t make a difference,” Wu says, scoffing. 

“You would be surprised.”

Something in tone tells _more_ , something swimming in his shaky tone. 

“I just want to make sure you’re not hurt,” Wu hums, getting closer to Mako.

Mako scowls, Wu sings something to make the badgermoles untrap Mako. He falls into his chest, slumping, all of his weight onto him. This is a stupid idea, letting him free without handcuffs, Mako is a firebender, Wu can’t earthbend. A single misstep and he’ll have red blooming through his chest.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Mako hums, Wu sets him down on the ground, fingers opening the coat. He looks at the bandages, red seeping through them like an ugly wine stain. He lets his hand graze over them, feeling every bump, every fibre.

“Then I’ll wait for when you prove me right,” Wu jokes, hands lightly putting pressure on his ribs, the ugly bruise, hues of reds and blues and violets, a reminder of what Mako must’ve gotten through. He gets a sharp wince from him, he presses between the bones, feeling for any broken bones.

“It’s not broken,” Mako huffs.

“I just want to make sure.”

He looks at his chest for just a second, he wonders what amount of weight training, of military training and the amount he had to endure to get a body like this. Tough, hard but still slim, just like he’s modelled by the gods. Wu creates more distance between them, realising how close they are.

“Just stay in my room,” Wu says, “when you’re healed you can kill me, do whatever you want or go back to the fire nation or something.”

Mako chuckles at him. It’s unguarded, filling up the whole tunnel. It kinda sounds like summer, like transition to spring to summer, with the sprawling fields of grass, dandelions and many different kinds of flowers propping up and the sweet sickly smell of honey that mixes with the cool air.

Is this something that’s hiding behind those amber eyes? A much more softer and sweeter side? One that’s not just sprawling wildfires in forests?  
  


Wu helps Mako up, the walk back to his room takes longer. He’s memorized where the staff is at all times. During those ten minutes, with Mako’s weight on him, he slowly realises that Mako is a weird complex individual. A math’s equation with missing variables, and he’ll find that variable.

He has to.

———

“Ow!” Mako winces. It’s quiet in the midnight air.

“Sorry I just…” Wu fixes the bandages, he hands him a glass of water and a pill, “I’m not really good at this stuff.”  
  
“At what?” Mako asks.

He sits next to him on the bed. The moon isn’t out today, she’s hiding among the abyss of space. Wu looks at the stars, the most noticeable ones and starts to trace the constellations his mother told him about, what sailors use to navigate the harshest seas.

_“Here, this one that looks like a tea cup. Mighty sailors often use that to navigate through seas in the north of the earth kingdom.”_

That was before the spark inside him died, snuffled out. His Mother tried to help him, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually he fell into line with his father and often turned her back, only giving him priceless antiques to make up for what’s lost. It’s not enough.

“I’m not good at taking care of people,” he looks at the lines in his palm, tracing it with his other finger, pretending to be a sailor, outside of these walls, sailing the rough seas, “all my life I’ve had other people take care of me, it wasn’t the other way around.”

  
Mako scoffs, “you royals.”

“Wanna trade?” Wu nudges him in the elbow, testing the boundaries of their relationship, “I’ve never been outside of Ba Sing Se. You can stay here and act like a rich kid if you want.”  
  


“Why not?” Mako replies.

He doesn’t have many friends. Mako is his only friend. Are they friends? Can he be friends with a firebender? He doesn’t know the rules, the unspoken rules added on top of that. Isolation does that to you. Does he touch his friends in a friendly manner? Is this too much? The hand on Mako’s thigh?

It’s probably too much, he reels his hand back in.

Silence, it’s somehow comfortable and sweet. 

Mako is the first one to break it, “I was looking for my brother.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Wu says, he feels like an idiot saying that.

“I don’t… he’s probably in the outer walls. His name is Bolin.”  
  


“ _Bolin_ ,” he says, letting it out of his tongue, “I can try to help you.”

“Have you ever been out of the inner walls or not?” Mako says.

It sinks, heavily inside his stomach, “no… I haven’t. But I can get the two of us access.”

Another stretch of silence, it's not comforting this time. It’s sinking, heavy, filling the room and it drowns the two of them. He bites his lip, wanting to take back his words, to let it melt inside his mouth, let it taste bitter, this is so much _worse_.

“I don’t need your help,” Mako huffs, he walks to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Wu’s good at people, only on the surface people, knowing how to sweet talk to him. But he doesn't know anything further than that, deeper in the earth where secrets and unsaid rules rise. 

One minute he was opening up, then Mako reels himself back in and closes everything out of the box. It’s strange, it leaves Wu looking at where Mako was, a few moments ago. He was sitting there, the darkness covering his face, amber eyes glowing in the darkness. But his voice, it was trying to say something.

But his body said something else.

Wu sighs, sitting there, tracing the lines on his palm. He thinks of the sailor, he places himself there in the boat, with the grey thundering clouds and sparks of lightning that hits the rough seas. He can find comfort there, outside of his room, outside of this city and out of these walls. 

And somewhere, in that boat. He sees a figure. Maybe, in another life, it’ll be someone he loves. A husband.

“But not here,” he whispers to himself. These walls are suffocating him.


	3. steadying us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry this is probably filled with so many errors and spelling mistakes, I wrote the last bit in my phone

It’s been a few weeks since Mako has settled in. He’s still closed off, but he’s slowly grown to warm up fo Wu, just a little bit. Sometimes, Wu finds himself staring at Mako when Wu cracks a joke, he watches his lips turn into a soft grin, one that’s unguarded, Wu would often forget how to breathe.

Like the fire burned away the oxygen inside his lungs.

It’s strange how Mako is slowly creeping up on him. He sighs, putting down his head on his desk in the library. He thought that the silence would help him concentrate better, to let the smell of wood and warmth that comes from the bookshelves to ground him. It isn’t doing anything. All it’s doing is making him worry about Mako.

His books and notes are strewn all over the table. History books from different periods of the earth kingdom and the different kings, different military progressions and the history of the walls. Nothing about Dai Li. He sighs, putting his arms on the table and hiding his head, looking down, staring at the piece of paper where he tried to make the poem again.

_ “We will collapse.” _

_ “We will burst into flames.” _

_ “Why--” _

He gets up, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor, it echoes hauntingly in the lonely library. There’s hardly no one here. He can leave, he did his homework, looked over his exam revision notes several times, memorized the important years and changes in Ba Sing Se.

He just wants to come back home to see Mako.

He picks up his books and runs out. Goes into his cart and a thought crosses over his mind so quickly that he has a whiplash.

His parents are coming home today.

“Oh shit.”

So that’s why he finds them in the living room with their expensive clothes, laughing and drinking with wine glasses in their hands, swirling the liquid around and around. He stands there in the hallway awkwardly, a stone sinking inside his stomach, it sinks to the very bottom of the lake.

And he’s a kid again.

Small.

Growing smaller.

He is--

“Wu! Sweetheart, dear,” his mother pipes up, putting her glass down first before walking towards him with a soft smile on his face, “how are you? How are your studies?”

He forces a smile, “I’m great, I was just--”

“That’s good dear,” she puts her hand on his shoulder, “I was wondering whether you had time to go to dinner, just the three of us.”

He nods, like he usually does. This is what it means to live under the roof in the inner walls. To trust blindly and to follow faith. To follow the rules and to never question. It’s always been this way. It’s easy to  _ just  _ follow, nodding and smiling while doing so.

And that’s what he’s doing right now. Nodding and smiling. Nod. Smile. Keep in place. Stay inside the cage and do what you’re told. He puts his hands behind his back and locks them together, his thumb digging into the flesh of his palm. Maybe, if he puts enough force in, it’ll make a hole, bleeding out all the unsaid words he wants to say.

He follows his mum back to the living room and feels the couch sink. He lets the words flow like a stream of water in the spirit forest that he remembers reading when he was younger. Wu lets himself put up an act, smiling and nodding, listening into his father’s insight about the new politics and the economy being introduced.

But underneath the flimsy mask, his eyes swim with worry. Mako. Is he okay? Will he still be there? On the bed? Or maybe on his chair? Staring out the window, amber eyes out to the field of grass near the walls where they met? It’s like Mako is never here, he’s always somewhere else. He’s always looking outside.

When he laughs at a joke his father said he thinks that Mako is the type of person who would love to have a quiet life. Maybe after all of this is over, Mako will put down his cascading fires and settle in a field of grass where he’ll build his house, filling it up with plants, colourful stained windows that coats the whole hours in so many hues, so many colours that it’s blinding.

And he’ll smile, a happy smile. A genuine one. Maybe Wu can visit sometimes, and he’ll step into his home full of memories, look into his amber eyes and feel this  _ buzz  _ inside his chest that he shouldn’t feel.

He grips the glass on his hand tighter. He swirls the wine and takes a sip. Maybe, after the war is over Wu can leave Ba Sing Se, maybe he can even convince Mako to come with him. But fear is like a snake that constricts him, grounding him, keeping him inside his open cage.

  
He’s never been outside the inner walls in his life.

But Mako has probably seen more than Wu has seen in his lifetime.

_ We will burst into flames _ .

“--And then I just thought it was preposterous! No one in these lands have we ever seen a man who has loved another man, or a woman who has loved another woman!” His father pauses, bigotry spilling through his words, “isn’t that right Wu?”

In the three seconds it takes to reply Wu feels like he couldn’t breathe. His neck feels hot and shame, guilt it all turns into a hollow abyss that eats everything inside him like an abyss.

But it’s fine. He thinks about three things, it goes like this:

  1. The earthbender
  2. Mako



“No. I have loved two people in my live before. And two of them, during all of those times, I wished one for  _ him  _ to look at me for once, to not look at that pretty girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. The other one, the other boy. I wished for him to tear down the stupid walls at once, to lay down his firenation background and to come live with me in the field of grass,” Wu says.

But it only comes out as: “Yes, father.”

Wu thinks it’s better that it came out as something else. Because if he said the truth, he he would’ve died by execution without seeing through Mako's walls, even if he doesn’t  _ swing  _ that way. Even if he will never look at Wu like he holds the very planets in his eyes, the very forest in his vast trees.

———

He throws open the door into his bedroom, stepping in as he feels the floor creak under him. Mako isn’t on the bed, staring out of the window. He isn’t on his desk, sitting on the chair and feeling the grooves on the desk. 

He steps further.

He closes the door behind him.

And he feels Mako pushing him against the wall. There’s something about the way that Mako’s hands tremble around his suit, and his eyes trembling with both fear and anger. They’re close to each other. Amber eyes staring into the vast forest of his own eyes.

“What is happening--”   
  


“--Shhh,” Mako whispers, he isn’t wearing that weird coat, only wearing black pants and a single white singlet. He has a red scarf on, he can see the tears in it, the signs of time taking its toll on the scarf. Where did he even get that scarf?

Silence is what follows after. His eyes goes straight to the window, watching the curtains of the window billow in the wind that’s wafting inside. There’s calm, peace. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm. Wu’s heard of it before.

Thirty seconds follow. The sound of the staff inside of his house walking echoes through the thin walls.

He gets off Wu, pinching his nose, “there’s gonna be a coup—“

“What!” Wu puts his hands behind the back of his head, “why  _ didn’t _ you tell me?” He gets close to Mako and grabs a hold of his wrist, tight, pushing all his frustration onto me.

“I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why?” Wu whispers, eyes going cloudy.

“I can’t trus you.”

“You’ve been living inside my home for a few weeks and I’ve  _ never  _ ratted you out—“

“I don’t want you to turn me in!” He yells.

His voice rattles the walls it echoes. It reminds him of his father yelled, louder than this, loud enough that it knocks the paintings off the walls, loud enough that it breaks the antiques.

Mako is slowly turning into something that seethed with fire, his mouth fumes with smoke and his eyes, it glows a bright red, of fire that takes and takes and takes, of fire that is from the very depths of hell, of bright seething anger.

He looks at his hand.

Wu’s hands on him.

And everything quickly tumbles down. The fire leaves, the fury is taken over with an overwhelming wave of heartbreak, all the little pieces are like broken glass that Mako is trying to piece back together. The inferno in his eyes is gone. Replacing it is with tears.

_ Tears _ .

He’s never seen Mako cry. He quickly tugs away at Wu’s grip and wipes away the tears. The way that he’s acting, his hands shaky, it’s like he wants to spill another secret, another sprew of words that’ll help Wu understand Mako better.

“I’ve never trusted anyone,” Mako says, “I’m sorry I just…fuck.”

“Mako—“

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll…” he trails off.

Wu lets his mind fills in those blanks within these three seconds. What was gonna be the last words? Maybe it’s something on the lines of  _ die _ , or maybe something personal like _ find myself _ …

He doesn’t know how to complete the sentence. Wu can relate to not completing that sentence. It’s terrifying, not knowing what he was gonna say, what those unsaid words that’s dying bitterly inside Mako’s mouth.

Wu wants to reach out and to wipe away the tesrs himself. To let himself trail his finger across his cheek, his jawline, look into his eyes, fire, amber eyes, not like destruction but of something warm like the hearth of a fireplace. Wu wants to hold him, or maybe just whisper about a place somewhere else, a house in a field of grass with stained glass. It’s everywhere yet nowhere at once.

Mako sighs. There’s something private seeing him slowly put himself back together after breaking down. It reminds him of a kid, of him tripping and falling on the ground, having a bruised knee and rubbing it to help ease the pain.

“Mako?” He says.

“Fuck it,” Mako whispers, “I was disguised as a Dai Li in a scouting mission,” he sits down on the bed, “in an advance to get some information before Princess Azula infiltrated Ba Sing Se undercover.”

He shakes, staring at his own hands, “it was supposed to be an easy scouting mission but we—we got caught by the Dai Li. I was separated from the rest of them. I think some have escaped but others might’ve gotten caught or even brainwashed and I just… I don’t  _ belong _ here.”

Wu sits next to him, hands on his own lap. He wants to reach out and hug him tightly, but he doesn’t. So instead he rests a hand on Mako’s thigh, hoping that touch of warmth will ground him.

“I don’t think I belong here either,” Wu scoffs.

He gets a jab from Mako.

“I’m sorry I thought it was—“

“No it’s,” Mako pauses, smiling a little bit, Wu stared at how his eyes crinkles, “it’s fine. It was pretty funny. I don’t think the both of us belong here anyway.” 

Silence takes over the two of them. This time it’s comforting, it sways and swirls all around them like a blanket. 

“The coup…” Mako starts again, “it’s starting to—“

The floor rumbles beneath them, dust falling from the ceiling. Wu walks to the window and peers his head out, metal tanks, soldiers marching carrying fire nation banners. They all thread with authority, rooting themselves into the floor with might and fury. 

His heart beats against his chest. The abyss, a hole inside his chest begins to cave. His whole life, within these inner walls is all crumbling away. There, that place where the soldiers are currently standing next to is the school we went to for elementary school, memories of the earthbending kid and staring at him from afar is gone.

The street that he walks in is on fire nation foot.

The ground.

The air.

This is where he grew up and raised  _ himself _ . It’s all crumbling down.

“The fall of Ba Sing Se,” Wu turns around to face Mako, “I thought… the walls—“

“The Dai Li are corrupted,” Mako stand up, chewing on his lower, fixing his scarf, “Azula must’ve—“

He hears a loud  _ thud  _ downstairs, which follows with a bunch of unknown voices mixing in with worried voices. They look at each other for a moment and two. He’s watching his whole fragile life break apart like priceless antiques that his dad buys to fill up the house, his mother always telling the staff to keep it clean.

Blood pools underneath it. 

“We need to go!” Mako grips Wu so tight.

  
“But my parents!”

Another thud, another set of footsteps and another set of screams. This is it. The fall of Ba Sing Se. Everything he has known is falling apart into pieces. But there wasn’t really anything keeping him here. So why is Wu shaking? Hesitating? Wanting to save his parents? To hold out a helping hand to the very people that has casted him out and kept him in the shadows.

Why does he want to stay?

“I can’t leave them,” Wu says, hands shaky, “they’re  _ all  _ I’ve got.”

Mako bites down his lips, “there’s nothing keep you here--”

“--You don’t know that--”

“--You always stay in your room everyday except for school. You never venture out of the walls but always go that  _ stupid  _ spot in the fucking field. Your parents cast you out. There was  _ nothing  _ in here keeping you here in the first place.”   
  


Nothing…

There was nothing keeping him here in the first place.

  
All the walls come crumbling down and the sun is blinding his eyes.

They breathe in each other’s silence, it suffocates the both of them. Mako is the first one to move, taking the long cloak that Wu realises is from the Dai Li. He throws it over himself and takes Wu’s wrist. He lets Mako drag him, closing his eyes, not wanting to see the horror from the fire nation. It smells of powder and ash, of rotting flesh and dust.

They reach the outside.

And it’s filled up with footsteps and more screaming.

He feels the stone turn into the grass, they must be in the backyard. Everything is so far away, but he can still hear it.

It’s muffled when the grass turns to dirt.

He opens his eyes, they’re in the tunnel. The badgermoles are already closing the entrance, their sharp claws moving the very earth itself. Everything plunges into darkness before Mako lights a small fire, bathing everything in a soft warm hue of red. The badgermoles screech at Mako, frightened by the fire.

“No it’s okay!” Wu says, hands up, “he’s a  _ friend _ .”

The both of them land their paws on the dirt again. Mako sighs. Up above he can still hear the sounds of voices, the ground shaking due to the tanks rolling into the city. Wu sits down onto the floor, staring into his hands, eyes shaky. He doesn't care if his suit is all dirty or his deadlines on his assignments.

His hands, all the dirt changing it’s changing into blood. It’s dark. Deep red. Red. Red like blood. Everything pools around him and he--

“Wu,” Mako whispers.

There’s no blood in his hands. It’s just dirt. There’s no blood underneath him. He tries to make a word leave out of his mouth but all it does is make air, stale air. No words. He can’t speak, all the words turning into useless air, useless. Up above everything is getting louder and louder and all he can think about is that he left his parents.

It all comes crumbling down, he’s breaking down, it was inevitable anyway. The tears, it’s hot against his skin and he’s trembling, feeling the warmth from the fire that Mako has in his open palm. He puts his head down, wanting to curl into a ball, disappear, go back into his mother’s womb to never come out again.

He was never made for this. Wu was just made to be another politician puppet. 

Mako sits down next to him and guides him to his shoulder, a soft contact that helps him just a little bit. That touch, that contact, it lights up his core and fills with flames, something so warm that reminds him of his mother’s story. But it’s not enough to stave away the tears. He doesn’t sob out loud, no more energy for sobs.

So instead he just lets the tears fall into the ground, turning the ground dark. He moves closer to Mako, feeling the fabric of the cloak. If he could, and he wants to, he would let his the walls that similar to his house fall, let Mako in, let him step in, let him see what’s inside, the good and the bad, the stupid childhood memories, how his used to be the brightest thing in the universe but slowly dimmed, falling into line with his father.

And will he ever step into Mako’s walls? What is inside? Wu wonders what inside his walls, his brother, Bolin, what is he like? Is his childhood full of gleaming smiles and innocence? Or did the fire nation burn it all down for him? Was the only moment in your life where you’re supposed to be free get torn away from him?

  
Did Mako lose everything? But there must be something under all that loss and brooding, how he’s close to Wu and his hand is caressing his shoulder so softly like his mother once did. How the fire flickers not erratically and bright, but soft, warm, tender and soft. They don’t say anything during that moment. There’s no need to. The silence and their bodies are speaking for them.

———

“We can’t leave Ba Sing Se,” Mako says, they walk behind the Badgermoles while Wu does his off-key singing, it’s embarrassing, “they must've already surrounded the whole area outside Ba Sing Se for miles, we won’t last long under the earth. We have to stay inside the walls.”

Wu pauses, “so where are we going?” 

Wu starts to sing again, eyes catching a glimpse of the red scarf underneath the bulky cloak that he has on, hiding under all of that. His eyes glims with the fire, but with something else, unreadable once again. Wu looks straight ahead.

“They only care about the inner walls,” Mako says, “they plan to take control of Ba Sing Se and hold it for the fire nation. Then they’ll--”

“--Slowly starve out the people in the outer and middle walls and force them to join the fire nation,” Wu finishes, he isn’t singing anymore, the badgermoles are already digging without him, “spirits…”

“We just have to hunker down,” Mako mumbles, the flame flickering on his palm, “I’m sure there’s gonna be a window to get out at some point.”

“Yeah…” Wu says. It didn’t cross his mind that they’ll leave soon. They’ll go their own separate ways and never see each other again. Mako is fleeting, it slowly washes over him when he glances over to him, he’ll never see him again. In Wu’s mind, Mako will be one of the brightest things in his mind, he’ll think of him when he’s older, mind filled with regrets and guilt when he pretends to like his wife.

To Mako, Wu will just be nothing. Just a small spark in the fire. Something fleeting.

In a split second, within the warmth of the fire. He sees everything the both of them that  _ could  _ be, and all that they’re not. They’re two strangers, meeting at the wrong time, and maybe they’re the wrong person to each other as well. Two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. Wu hates it, he wants to set the whole world on fire.

They start to move upwards, the surface steeping upwards. Wu moves closer to Mako. Hoping that the warmth will keep him safe. The badgermoles halt for a second before opening up a hole to the ground. Moonlight welcomes them, following with a soft hush that falls on them when they climb up. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Mako extinguishes the flame on his palm. 

When Wu looks back to the hole, it’s already covered up.

“How did you even get badgermoles?” Mako asks.

“They’ve been with me since I was a kid,” Wu says, “I really didn’t have anyone to play with so, eh,” Wu puts a hand around Mako, looping it around his neck. This is what friends do right? They’re friends? If this is what they’ll be and nothing more, then he’ll be okay with that.

Can  _ they  _ even be friends?

Wu looks around, they’re in an alleyway, squished between tight buildings. When he sees a fire nation soldier on the road he immediately puts his hands to himself. He watches Mako shrug off his cloak, tossing it in the trash can.

It smells of sewers and rats.

He’s never been outside of the inner walls. They’re in the outer walls, just at the edge. He follows Mako’s steps, moving through the buildings, palms on the walls, overgrown with moss and vines between the cracks. He catches glimpses within the houses, terrified families taking their personal belongings, photos, clothes, holding a candle as they hurry to get out of the walls.

They can’t get out. Everyone is stuck here. 

It’s a shock, like he’s plunging into cold deep water. He catches more glimpses when he moves through the buildings. He sees two boys, probably in their early twenties, holding each other like they might die. And they’ll be buried together in the casket just like that. They’re already accepting death, finding comfort in each other’s arms.

“People live like this,” Wu whispers, looking up at the flickering light that’s escaping from the building, “I.. I never knew.”

“You’ve never been outside of the walls?” Mako asks, holding his scarf close to him like it’s a prayer.

“I only stayed in the inner walls,” Wu says, “it’s where I grew up. It was lonely.”

“But you had safety and food and money and could do whatever you want.”

“I know,” Wu speeds up to keep in pace with Mako, “but I was kept mostly in my room, my mother used to be so loving… so  _ bright _ . Then she fell in line with my dad. Everything in the house is just there to fill this… giant cloud of sadness in the house.”

Mako doesn’t say anything. But something shifts inside his eyes.

Wu decides to press just a little bit futher, “how about you, your parents… your brother. Where are they.”

Mako bites his lip, tightening up, wanting to curl into a ball and cease to exist, he can see it in his shoulder. Wu hates that he always speaks before he thinks, words coming out too fast before he could take them back in. 

“My parents they’re...” Mako pauses, he changes what he was about to say, “the both of them got killed.”

_ Oh _

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

“It’s fine,” Mako replies. Like it’s okay. It’s fine. It’s a long time ago, they were just kids. Two words that Mako probably practised and practised over and over again until it becomes natural like breathing, like  _ existing _ .

He wants to keep pushing. But Wu stops himself. 

They turn to the right. Mako looks over to one of the windows of the buildings, there is no light emitting from it. 

Mako looks back over to Wu. He nods. Mako holds out a hand and helps the both of them into the house. It’s an absolute mess, chaos, all the mess probably from a last minute escape. Wu hopes that whoever was living here escaped.

The green rug with embroidered symbols. Cheap wooden trinkets are broken all over the floor, a vase lying out on the floor with water pooling underneath it. He can see the panic now as he moves to pick up a smashed picture, a sweet family of six all living in a two room apartment. Sleeping in the same room with only blanket to sleep on which lies near the stove, putting wood to fuel the stove which is all wet and damp, sitting on an open cabinet on the ‘kitchen’ which is just a stone L shaped bench with scattered utensils and plates. 

The floor creaks underneath. He catches a glimpse through the gaps of the wooden floor, underneath is a sewer. A simple gust of wind could blow this whole house down. It’s terrifying. But he can still sense the warm moments of a family sitting around the table, sitting down. It’s turned over on the left side of the wall, with a broken clay pot next to it.

“Spirits...,” Wu whispers. This used to be a  _ home _ . Not it’s just looking at ghosts. He goes over to the dresser, stepping over broken glass as he slides it opens. There’s not much here except a button up grey jacket with a high collar. There’s a pair of tattered clothes, an off green colour. 

“We can stay here, for a bit,” Mako says, he pulls the blanket from near the stove, shaking off the dust and dirt. He settles it on the floor. They fix up the apartment just a little bit, trying to get it back to where it was. But it isn’t this apartment full of warmth, housing a poor family but rich in love.

Five minutes later they go to sleep, letting the silence fall in them. It’s thick and heavy. Wu can’t sleep, he keeps thinking about the ghosts of the family that used to be here,  _ lived  _ here and filled up the room with laughter and said to their children that everything was fine as long as they had each other.

Wu stares up at the ceiling. He breaks the silence between them.

“Hey Mako,” he turns over to look at Mako’s back. He doesn’t know if he’s sleeping or not.

He doesn’t say anything. Everything in Wu wants to close the gap between them, acting like a wall. Tear it all down, touch his back, turn Mak over and let his finger trace his face, jawline. Let the moon glow a soft hue that makes his amber eyes look so beautiful. They’ll fall asleep in each other’s arm, and wake up in each other’s arms.

What a stupid thing to think of. He wishes he’s never met  _ him _ .

When he drifts off to sleep Wu dreams of a grass of field, and a simple house full of warmth and hope. Mako is there, unguarded, not tense, full of life as he glows in the crescendo of colours from the stained glass.

He holds out a piece of paper.

When he takes it it bleeds in his hands.

He wakes up in sweat. He quickly sits up. Still dark. Mako is asleep. He wonders if Wu was the last thing he thinks of when he drifted off to sleep. Is wu there? Currently in his dream? It takes  _ everything  _ in his body to not move closer to Mako, let their bodies fit together, even if they’re not perfect, just slightly jaded at the edges.

  
  



End file.
